


hard at work

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Gags, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Slapping, asexual kink, i guess, john childermass: service top, whatever kink it is when you call someone sir while domming them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: Childermass helps Norrell sleep. In the broadest of terms.





	hard at work

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Childermass presents himself at Norrell's room at 10:00 in the evening, as per Norrell's request. It's always difficult for Norrell to ask for these interludes, so he's taken to asking Childermass to see him at night, instead.

Norrell, already in his nightshirt, looks up from his book. "You're late," he snaps.

"No, I'm not," says Childermass, taking his shoes and neckcloth and coat off and setting them neatly by the door. "It's ten exactly."

Norrell lets this pass without comment. This is a ritual with them: he begins nervous, and doesn't unwind until...well, later. Nitpicking is one of the ways he expresses his nervousness.

Childermass unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up a little. Norrell's eyes go to Childermass's hands, his wrists.

"Waistcoat," whispers Norrell, as Childermass finishes the right sleeve.

Childermass inclines his head. "If you like." He unbuttons his waistcoat and hangs it on the door.

Carefully, he approaches the bed, his shirt hanging loose and open at the throat, his stockinged feet quiet against the carpet. Norrell's eyes keep flicking between the triangle of neck and chest shown by his shirt, and his bare wrists. He sits on the bed, and looks thoughtfully at Norrell.

"What would you like this evening, sir?"

Norrell blinks a little, and turns his face away. "I don't know."

Childermass takes one of his hands and rubs a thumb along the knuckles. "You called me here for a reason."

"I don't know."

This is not unusual. Norrell has a bad habit of not claiming his own desires. Childermass sighs internally, and picks up both Norrell's hands, kisses the palms.

"We'll see what happens, then," he says into them.

Norrell nods quickly.

Childermass lingers over Norrell's hands a some more. They're good hands, always soft, always a little inkstained no matter how often he washes them. He kisses the tender place where the thumb meets the fingers, once on each hand.

"No..." says Norrell, trailing off.

"Hm?"

"Harder," says Norrell.

Ah. Childermass grabs Norrell's hair. It's barely long enough for that, but this, he knows, makes the feeling all the more sharp. Norrell closes his eyes and exhales as Childermass forces his head backwards with the hair grip. "Yes," says Norrell, nearly inaudible, and his eyes relax. "Yes."

Childermass examines Norrell's face. A plain face, but, somehow, pleasing in the lines. Familiar. The short lashes shadowing the cheeks. The curve of the nose. The small soft lips. Childermass brushes one with a thumb, and Norrell, eyes still closed, opens his mouth.

"Very good, sir," murmurs Childermass.

There is something about seeing Norrell like this. It's not just the thrill of having charge. Norrell is almost never relaxed, there's something about him always moving, always fearing, but when they do this, he seems to concentrate, to focus himself on it, to the degree that most of the fear goes away.

"It's good for you," Childermass tells him.

Norrell opens one eye. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Childermass, reproving, tugs at his hair. "You know what I meant, sir."

Norrell sighs and closes his eyes again. Childermass slides the hand that had been in his hair down his neck, appreciating the little hairs there, tapering off into smooth skin. He circles one finger around the nape of Norrell's neck, then runs his nails up Norrell's neck and back into his hair.

Childermass pushes him down on the bed flat on his stomach none too gently and kneels over him. Norrell, his face half-caught in a pillow, neck twisted awkwardly, makes a soft noise.

"All right?" said Childermass.

"Yes, yes, yes, get on with it," says Norrell, too quickly.

Childermass rolls his eyes and hitches Norrell's nightshirt up as far as he can, leaving the shoulders and back exposed. He runs a hand down the spine and feels Norrell shiver.

"You want rough, do you?" says Childermass.

"I already told you I did."

Childermass runs his hand down Norrell's back again, but this time with nails. Lightly, and then back up harder, and then with enough force to leave pale marks on the skin. Norrell makes a soft desperate sound, arches up, and Childermass pushes him back down.

"None of that, now, sir," he says.

The marks are beginning to fade. Childermass kisses the small of Norrell's back, then up along his spine. He shifts his hands to Norrell's wrists, pinning them to the bed, and presses small kisses to Norrell's sides.

Norrell makes another soft sound and pushes against Childermass's hold.

"Do you want me to stop or let you up?" says Childermass, looking up.

"No," says Norrell.

"You need to be quiet, then, sir. And don't try to rush me. Remember our agreement."

Norrell subsides, grumbling. He grumbles a lot, considering they'd decided on this beforehand for _his_ benefit. Childermass pushes him down a little, just to get the point across, and returns to kissing the soft skin on Norrell's sides. Then, Norrell's hands, still in his hair, tighten again, and he makes another soft sound.

Childermass looks up again. "If you don't do as you're told, I will gag you with your own neckcloth and tie you to the bedstead. Sir."

Norrell stops breathing for a moment and stares at Childermass, wide-eyed.

"You wouldn't," he says.

Childermass raises his eyebrows. "Care you find out?"

Norrell frowns and settles, but as soon as Childermass lowers his head, he makes another noise, much louder, and struggles.

Ah. So it's _that_ kind of night.

Childermass sits up deliberately and begins to walk towards the chest of drawers which contains Norrell's neckcloths. He peruses them slowly; behind him, in the silence of the room, he can hear Norrell's breathing speed up.

Rope? Well, he can use more neckcloths, if he needs to. They really should lay in a supply of proper rope, which is much easier to tie. But then Norrell would have to acknowledge what they're doing, which isn't likely to happen in daylight anytime soon. Perhaps next time Childermass will bring some and stash it in the room. He grabs two and looks back at Norrell, who is watching his every move intently.

Childermass returns to the bed and sits neatly astride Norrell. "You on your stomach, sir, and hands against the bedstead."

Norrell scrambles into position, nearly thwacking his wrists against the iron. Childermass ties the knots, carefully and securely, being sure they won't tighten if Norrell struggles.

Then he grabs the third neckcloth, which is linen and therefore slightly rougher than the other two. From behind, he takes Norrell by the chin, and Norrell closes his eyes.

"Apologise and I won't do it," says Childermass, running one thumb along Norrell's jaw.

"Get on with it," whispers Norrell. His lips part a little as Childermass brushes his thumb along his cheek, and his breathing slows again.

Childermass half-smiles. It would be easier if Norrell could ask directly for what he wants, but, perhaps, less fun for both of them. He ties the gag around Norrell's mouth. The effect is more psychological than physical; if Norrell wanted to, he could open his mouth and make as much noise as he liked. But it's the psychological effect Childermass is after.

Now, where was he? Childermass runs a gentle hand along Norrell's thighs. If he wants rough, well, rough is what he'll get. He brings his hand down in a stinging slap against Norrell's thighs.

Norrell makes a desperate noise, dampened only a little by the gag.

"Do you want me to stop, sir?" asks Childermass.

Norrell shakes his head quickly. Childermass slaps him again, harder this time, and then a third time, harder still. Norrell is panting, his hands gripping the bedstead as much as they can around the ties. Childermass gives him another slap, his own hand stinging. He wants to leave bruises, he wants Norrell to think about this moment when he moves, but he'd need something a bit fiercer for that. Another blow, harder still, and Norrell makes a soft half-sob noise. Childermass strikes him again and again. Finally, Norrell shudders and goes boneless, and Childermass pulls his nightshirt down and kisses the nape of his neck.

They lay together for a few minutes, Norrell still tied, Childermass's weight on top of him. Childermass knows better than to untie him until he is asked.

"Childermass?" says Norrell finally, muffled around the gag. He rattles his arms against the bedstead.

"Of course, sir." Childermass unties the neckclothes and rubs Norrell's wrists gently. The circulation seems to be fine, though they are, of course, marked. It'll fade by morning -- Childermass is very careful -- which is slightly regrettable. It would be...satisfying to catch just a little glimpse as they went about their day, when Norrell's sleeves moved a bit. But not safe.

He leaves the gag for last. When it's off, he folds all three carefully over the bedstead, and kisses the corner of Norrell's mouth. Norrell slumps against the bed.

"What the laundry maid will think of the neckclothes, I really don't know," he mumbles.

"You should bring some rope in, then."

"Hmm," says Norrell. He nestles himself down against Childermass's chest and sighs.

Childermass rubs his back absentmindedly. "Don't forget, I'm leaving tomorrow for that booksale."

"How could I forget," says Norrell, sounding as though he's trying and failing to be appropriately cranky. "I'm the one who told you to go."

"You've been known to forget things before, sir."

Norrell makes a vague noise and closes his eyes. Childermass pets his hair until he goes to sleep, and then slides out quietly. Kisses Norrell's forehead. Takes his clothes and slides out to his own room. He's much too wound up for sleep himself, his blood is still humming with power and energy, but he'll calm down eventually. He always does.

Being Norrell's man of business has always been an...interesting job.


End file.
